Mr Garcia

I wonder if any of them are married.

Hell.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Damn Kayla and her contagious excitement. Where is she now, huh?

This is a living nightmare.

Just go to a room and go to sleep. I don’t have to do anything with anyone, I remind myself.

“Gentlemen, who’s it going to be?” Porsha asks the room.

The men all smile darkly, drinking me in.

I can almost feel their hunger.

My breath quivers on the intake, and I drop my shoulders and force a smile.

If I’m going to Hell, I may as well go hard.

“Gentlemen,” Porsha says, as if this is some kind of stage show. Well, I guess it is, really. “State your intentions. Who wants to be the very first man Cartier spends the night with?”

The men all begin to move around, and they come and stand in front of me, just like Porsha said they would.

I glance up to the one man that doesn’t: Mr. Garcia.

“Hello, I’m Jonathan,” a blonde man says as he picks up my hand and kisses the back of it. His eyes hold mine, and he kisses my hand again. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Hello.” My stomach flutters with nerves, and I force a smile. “Likewise.”

“Bennet.” A dark-haired man smiles. “It’s a pleasure.”

I shake his hand and smile. “Nice to meet you.”

One by one, the men introduce themselves, and Porsha is right: the majority of them are gorgeous. And even if they haven’t been genetically blessed, they all have the ‘It Factor’.

I glance over to Sebastian, who is standing alone and sipping his scotch. His eyes stare straight ahead, as if pre-occupied.

Why isn’t he lined up to meet me? I know he likes me. At least, I thought he did. I glance over at the line of beautiful girls beside me, and the penny drops.

He’s here for someone else. One of them.

Fuck.

“I’ll start the bidding!” a man from the back calls. “Thirty thousand pounds.”

A few of the men chuckle. “Fifty thousand.”

Huh? What’s going on?

“Seventy-five thousand tip to spend the night with me!” one man calls in an assertive voice.

I glance around. There seems to be some kind of auction happening.

Oh crap, they told me about this, I get 25% of the auction price on top of my wage if I accept one of them.

“Eighty-five.”

“One hundred!” another man calls.

From my peripheral vision, I see Sebastian place his scotch down on the table and turns toward the exit door.

What… he’s leaving?

I look around nervously. He’s just leaving?

“Him!” I call.

Sebastian keeps walking, and I point toward him. “That man there. The one walking toward the door.”

“Mr. Smith!” Porsha calls.

Sebastian stops on the spot, still facing the exit.

“Cartier has chosen you,” she calls.

Sebastian turns, and his eyes hold Porsha’s before he says, “She doesn’t have what I want.” His voice flat and lifeless.

I glare at him. Asshole.

“That isn’t how this works, and you know it, Mr. Smith,” Porsha says. “Our girls call the shots. If Cartier wants you, Cartier gets you.”

Sebastian’s eyes meet mine, and then his chin rises in defiance. “I’m not interested.”

I feel my face flush with embarrassment. This is possibly the most degrading thing that has ever happened to me. Fuck you.

“Mr. Smith, you play by the rules or you hand in your membership.” Porsha sneers.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, clearly angered, and he walks back toward me. “One hundred and thirty!” another man calls from the back.

Sebastian stands in front of me, inches away from my face, and we glare at each other.

Anger bounces between us. What, exactly, we are angry about, I don’t know. Actually, that’s a lie. I do know.

It’s the fact that he’s fucking here, that’s what. And here I was thinking he was someone special. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so pissed off with someone I don’t even know.

I raise my eyebrow.

He stares at me, and then without a word, he takes my hand.

“This way,” he mutters under his breath.

Porsha smiles at him. “That’s more like it.”

I feel the other men in the room staring at us as we walk toward the door and then get into the elevator. As soon as the doors close, Sebastian drops my hand like a hot potato. We stare forward in total silence as we travel upwards.

She doesn’t have what I want.

Like fucking hell I don’t. I could make you beg for me if I wanted to, you self-absorbed prick.

The elevator door opens, and he marches down the hallway with the key to the apartment in his hand. I follow him. I don’t even want him now, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting him embarrass me like that or take one of the other girls in front of me. Who the hell does this jerk think he is?

She doesn’t have what I want.

My blood begins to boil as he opens the apartment door and walks in. The door nearly slams shut in my face. Nice manners, asshole.